


but in the dark I have no name

by findyourstars



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, F/F, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-05-09 16:16:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5546939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findyourstars/pseuds/findyourstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The dead drop location is compromised, Anya. We’re going to need to come up with another plan.”</p><p>or</p><p>The Clexa spy AU, in which our girls finally meet in person after communicating remotely for almost two years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! So this fic was going to be in the place of that little fluffy Clexa drabble I just posted, but it was going to turn out way too long and it didn't really address my holiday exchange partner's prompt, so it became another animal entirely.
> 
> Heather is my beta superb, and she can be found here (tvshowobsessed) or on tumblr (hollsteinstrash).

In the back alley of Lexa’s favorite pastry shop, scrawled onto the brick with chalk and careful hands, there was a pink heart.

Lexa smiled.

“We have contact, Anya,” she said softly. There was a pause, then Anya’s voice wove in through her earpiece (disguised as a casual Bluetooth).

_“Good. You may proceed to the dead drop.”_

“Copy that,” Lexa replied. She tucked the collar of her jacket up against the early November chill and left the alley behind her.

—

“Any action at the dead drop?” 

Clarke leaned back and propped her stylish-yet-affordable boots up on her desk. Raven was too busy fiddling with a computer to reply, so Clarke balled up a piece of notebook paper and chucked it across the room at her Quartermaster. The paper landed smack on Raven’s keyboard, which finally got her attention, and she looked up at Clarke in annoyance.

“Can’t you entertain yourself?” She grumped. “Some of us have actual work to do.”

“I _am_ working,” Clarke protested. “I asked you if there was any action at our dead drop.”

“Oh.” Raven looked back to her computer and flicked through a couple of windows until she found security footage from the First Arcadia National Bank on 4th street. Clarke craned her neck to see Raven’s screen, but from this distance all she could see was the shape of the faded blue mailbox.

“Not yet,” Raven said. Clarke sighed.

“I’m borrrred,” she whined. “I haven’t been out in the field in _weeks_ , Rae. I’m going crazy.”

Raven hummed absently in response. She had her Analyst face on and clearly wasn’t listening. Clarke rolled her eyes.

“Can I at least contact her?”

That got Raven’s attention. “Contact who?”

“The Commander.”

Raven’s eyebrows drew together just the tiniest bit, but Clarke was trained to pick up on minute changes in tone and body language. It was her job.

“How do you know she’s a ‘she’?”

“Because I just do,” Clarke said. “Superspy, Raven, remember?”

It was Raven’s turn to roll her eyes. “You’ve never even met each other, Clarke.”

“True, but we’ve been communicating for a year and a half now.” Clarke waved her newest burner phone. “I Know Things.”

“Whatever, Princess.” Raven went back to her computer. “But no, you cannot contact the Commander yet. They will let you know when the drop is complete.”

“She,” Clarke murmured under her breath. “The Commander is a _she_.”

—

The drop site was only several miles from the alleyway, but Lexa took her time. She walked for a few blocks, rode the bus around town in circles for half an hour, ducked into a subway station and then reappeared without getting on a train, and then walked the rest of the way. When it came to subterfuge, she was the best there was. There was a reason she was in charge of these dead drops; she didn’t know what information she was picking up from her contact (codenamed Princess), but she knew it was serious, and she knew that she would be seriously in trouble if it landed in anyone else’s hands.

She reached up and tapped the Bluetooth in her left ear. “Approaching,” she breathed, just loud enough for it to reach Anya.

 _“Copy that,”_ Anya crackled in her ear. Lexa made a face and adjusted the earpiece.

“You’re really staticky, Ahn.”

_“I don’t — bzzzzchhhhhh chhhhhhhh — Lexa? Can you —— chhhhhshhhhh”_

Lexa was immediately on alert, her pulse spiking as she took a deep breath and casually took in the streets around her. First Arcadia National Bank was several blocks in the distance, marking the location of the dead drop, and Lexa allowed her gaze to rest on the blue mailbox for a breath before continuing her survey.

Nothing sent up any red flags, other than the eerie silence coming from Anya’s end, but Lexa remained vigilant as she drew closer. On impulse, she ducked into the bank.

More out of habit than anything, she tapped at her earpiece again as she paused at the desk in front of the teller’s stalls, its marble surface strewn with deposit and withdrawal slips. She knew the sound of a short-range signal jammer, and she knew that she was on her own for now.

It was a little lonely, operating without Anya’s ever-present commentary piped into her left ear, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. Lexa had done plenty of solo missions in her time — she generally worked better alone — and plenty of missions where the level of confidentiality required going completely off the grid. She took another deep, calming breath and let her surroundings slide more clearly into focus.

She could see the mailbox from where she stood, filling random numbers in on a deposit slip, but she was far enough back from the windows that she was effectively hidden from people walking by. She finished filling out the deposit form and began scrolling absently through BBC News on her phone. The way she had positioned herself left the mailbox in her peripheral vision, situated in the visual field that could most accurately detect movement.

After a moment or two of scrolling, a flicker in the corner of her eye drew her gaze to the dead drop zone. A man in a pea coat stood in front of the mailbox, looking at it with much more interest than anyone in the general populace should. As Lexa watched him, he circled once, then twice.

“Amateur,” Lexa breathed, entertained in spite of herself. He was as obvious as smoke on a clear day, and if she wasn’t trying to be invisible she would have gone out and kicked his ass, just to teach him a lesson about subtlety.

Then the man reached into the mailbox, and Lexa had seen enough. She slid out the front door of the bank and passed within spitting distance of the oblivious counter-agent. Even his cologne was disgustingly in-her-face. She made a quick note of his height, facial features, and general build before melting away into the flow of citizens doing their Thanksgiving shopping.

The alleyway was only a couple minutes’ walk away, and by the time she was back behind the pastry shop, there was a burst of static in her left ear, and Anya was back.

_“Lexa, what’s your status?”_

“Ah good, there you are,” Lexa teased softly. “I was getting lonely.”

There was what sounded like a sigh at Anya’s end, and Lexa bit back a smile.

“The dead drop location is compromised, Anya. We’re going to need to come up with another plan.”

A pause. _“Let Princess know that we’re made. And leave a request for an in-person meet up.”_

“A what?” Lexa’s heart leapt to her throat. 

_“You’re going to meet in a public location and exchange the flash drive.”_

Lexa swallowed. “Fine. I’ll be back at base in an hour or so.”

_“Copy that.”_

With a sigh, Lexa took a worn piece of yellow chalk from her pocket and drew a little arrow going through Princess’s heart, like Cupid had fired a volley at the alley wall. On the back end of the arrow, she added two sets of fletching.

And now to wait.

—

Clarke was actually getting work done for the first time today when Raven plopped a file onto her desk. She would have ignored her, but Raven kicked her under the desk with her brace-wrapped leg, which was actually a bit painful.

“Ow.” Clarke looked up, affronted. “Can I help you?”

Raven flipped open the file and pointed to the top piece of a paper: a high-res print out of security footage from the alleyway where she and The Commander left their coded chalk drawings. This one was a new one: an arrow through her little heart doodle.

“That means we’re compromised, right?” Clarke asked, her chest tightening.

“Yes, but this,” Raven pointed to the little lines on the opposite side from the arrow’s head, “means that she wants an in-person meet up.”

Clarke’s head snapped up triumphantly. “You said she! I _knew_ it!”

Raven rolled her eyes. “Yeah yeah, whatever. You’re going to be meeting her soon anyways, so I figured I could spill the beans.”

“Have you met her?”

“Yeah.” Raven looked suddenly and uncharacteristically embarrassed. “I, uh, slept with her handler.”

“Raven Reyes!” Clarke shrieked, drawing the glances of a few nearby analysts. She immediately lowered her voice and leaned in. “Isn’t that incredibly unprofessional? Inter-agency fraternizing or something?”

“It’s not against the rules if we don’t talk shop,” Raven protested. “And it doesn’t matter, that’s not why I came over here.” She flipped to the second page of the file, which was a printout from the agency’s secure email server. “Her handler sent me an address and a time.”

“Isn’t this a coffee shop?”

“Yes.” Raven gave her a sly smile. “The two of you will be getting coffee. Oh, and swapping the flashdrive.”

“What about the old one?”

“Remotely wiped.” 

Clarke fiddled with the printout. “Is she cute?”

Raven shrugged, but there was a smile playing at her lips. “You’ll see.” She tapped the file with her pen. “Tomorrow at 2pm, at Grounder’s Roasting Company.”

—

Her contact would be wearing a light blue turtleneck.

Lexa was wearing a green scarf. She was trying to keep her hands from shaking as she wrapped them around her mug.

It wasn’t like she had never done live drops before. She had done plenty, and they tended to go off without a hitch. (A three-inch scar between her ribs marked the time when things had gone otherwise.)

They had been communicating covertly for a year and a half. It had started through remote signaling (chalk doodles on the alley wall, a light on in a vacant apartment) and had evolved to the occasional messaging on burner phones, and annoyingly enough, Lexa had become fond of her. The girl (she assumed “Princess” was a girl) was light-hearted and sometimes even flirty, but she was also professional and got her shit done when it mattered.

What do you say to someone who you feel like you already know?

Lexa was taking a sip of her decaf hazelnut latte when someone slid into the chair across from her. That someone was wearing blue, and she looked up over her mug to lock eyes with a beautiful young woman.

So beautiful, in fact, that Lexa choked on her coffee.

The woman gave a short laugh in surprise. “Whoa there,” she teased. Her voice was husky, and Lexa felt it all the way down her spine.

Lexa coughed to clear her throat and tried to ignore the way that her ears were burning. “Hi,” she tried, and coughed again.

Her contact slid a plastic cup across the table towards her. “It’s just water,” she said, watching as Lexa eyed it suspiciously. Lexa took another sip from her coffee to steady her voice and gave a small smile.

“Sorry about that. Hello.” She held her hand out to the other woman, trying to come across as professional and respectable. It wasn’t all that often that she had dealings with other branches of their agency, and she wanted to make sure that Princess carried back a good impression to her bosses.

“Is your scarf hand-made?” The woman asked, her voice light, and Lexa zeroed in on the code phrase.

“No, but my mother tries,” she replied curtly, and the other woman’s features relaxed into a smile. Contact made.

“It’s nice to officially meet you.”

“You too.” Lexa’s eyes landed on her contact’s, which were _so_ blue that it really wasn’t fair. Paired with her cerulean turtleneck they made Lexa feel like she was looking straight to the bottom of the sea.

The woman’s eyes creased at the corners when she smiled, and of course that too was cute. “I’m Clarke.”

Lexa kept her expression neutral, though inwardly she was surprised. It likely wasn’t the other woman’s real name, but swapping personal information wasn’t the goal of these live drops. 

“Tris,” Lexa replied. She laced her fingers on the tabletop in front of them. “And I believe you have something for me?”

“I do indeed.” She reached into the bag in her lap and pulled out a small, wrapped parcel secured with a bow. “Happy birthday. I’m sorry it’s late.”

Well wasn’t that just adorable. Lexa was going to have to get out of here before her hormones (and the fact that she hadn’t gotten laid in several months) got the better of her and she let herself slip. She made a show of checking her watch and pushed back her chair, feigning regret.

“I’m late for an appointment, unfortunately, but I am glad that we got to get together.” Was she imagining it, or did Clarke look a little bit disappointed by her departure?

“Me too.” Clarke pulled a second item from her bag: a small, battered flip phone. A burner. “We’ll be in touch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you caught the Buffy reference ;)


	2. Chapter 2

“Clarke” reached out to Lexa later that evening.

“I didn’t know you had a new burner,” Anya said, eyeing the small object as it vibrated on Lexa’s coffee table. 

“Princess gave it to me earlier,” Lexa replied, sipping her wine with a careful air of detachment. “I’m assuming her Quartermaster passed it along.”

Something odd shifted across Anya’s expression, but it was gone before Lexa could pinpoint it. The disadvantages of working with other spies: your keenly-honed methods of observation were often useless. 

**[Unknown: 9:01pm]**  
We’re going to need a new drop site.

 **[Unknown: 9:01pm]**  
Which is a bummer, because I was quite a fan of your little chalk doodles.

Lexa didn’t realize she was smiling until Anya tossed the cork from the wine bottle at her.

“So the meet-up went well?” Anya said. She ducked easily as Lexa launched the cork back in her direction.

“Yeah, I told you, it was fine.”

“Is she hot?”

“What?” Lexa asked, exasperated. “Why is that relevant?”

Anya shrugged. “It’s not. At work, anyways.”

“What, you’re going to try to get me laid with my inter-agency contact? Pretty sure that’s the worst idea you’ve had this month.”

Again, the odd expression flitted across Anya’s face. Lexa was curious now, and she made a mental note to do some digging later.

“Anyway.” Lexa got up from the couch. “Do you want more wine?”

Anya wordlessly held out her glass, which Lexa picked up on her way back to the kitchen. Once she was out of Anya’s prying gaze, she pulled the new burner from her sleeve and tapped out a reply to Princess.

 **[Lexa: 9:07pm]**  
I appreciate the feedback. I felt like I was getting quite good.

 **[Lexa: 9:07pm]**  
I’ll have my people talk to your people.

“Princess says we need a new dead drop location,” Lexa called to Anya, who craned her neck over the back of the couch.

“We’re probably good for a few weeks,” Anya replied. “We have to analyze the data she gave you before we have anything in return.”

“All right,” Lexa said, but she was a little disappointed by the idea of halting off her communications with the other agent. Anya’s favorite red wine was already open on the counter, and there was just enough left for both of them to have half a glass. “So, any plans for the weekend?”

“Why are you asking?” Anya said, her tone just on this side of chilly. Another interesting anomaly, Lexa noted, and decided to press a little further.

“No reason,” she lied, returning Anya’s wine and sinking back into her chair. “I just haven’t seen you around much lately and figured you might be out doing something fun.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Anya grumbled. “Although I won’t be for long if you keep grilling me about my personal life.”

That was true, and Lexa didn’t want to be alone for the evening just yet, so she reined back the questioning. “I was going to try making flatbread again this weekend, if you want to be my guinea pig.”

That was enough to get Anya’s attention, and Lexa smiled.

—

“Raaaaaaaaaaven.”

“Hmm.”

“Raven.”

“Mm.”

“Raven Reyeeeeees.”

“Huh.”

One carefully-launched projectile later, and: “Ow! What the _fuck_ , dude.”

“Sorry-not-sorry.” Clarke spun lazily around in her chair. It was a Saturday, which meant most non-essential personnel had the day off, and the bullpen was quiet. Meaning: Clarke was bored.

And Raven was her unfortunate target, as usual.

“I’m trying to analyze _your_ damn data, Griffin.” Raven sighed. “A little peace and quiet would be nice.”

“You know what else would be nice?”

“What?” Raven replied reflexively, and then winced. “Clarke—”

“Finally letting me back in the field,” Clarke said, plowing over Raven’s words. “Maybe _then_ I’d finally leave you alone.”

“Don’t threaten your Quartermaster, Agent,” Raven grumbled, and she gathered her laptop in her arms. “I am going to go lock myself in Kane’s office so I can run this _extremely delicate_ metric without interruptions. Do not bother me unless a meteorite is literally about to crash into this building.”

“What would you do about a meteorite anyway?” Clarke wanted to know, but Raven was already gone, and she heard Kane’s office door slam shut behind her. 

**[Clarke: 9:03am]**  
I’m bored.

She chewed her lip for a moment, eyes on the pixelated screen before she gave up and hit send. It wasn’t likely that the Commander would respond to a non-work-related text at 9am on a Saturday, but with Raven gone and a mind-numbing pile of paperwork on her desk, Clarke was running out of ways to entertain herself.

 **[Clarke: 9:10am]**  
How did you end up with such a kickass codename anyways?

Two cups of watery agency coffee later and Clarke was still about to fall asleep at her desk when the burner phone gave a cheerful little chime. She grabbed for it so fast that she knocked a stack of papers out of her lap and onto the floor.

 **[Unknown: 10:01am]**  
I’m sorry you’re bored.

 **[Unknown: 10:01am]**  
And how do you know that it’s not just my official military ranking?

Clarke snorted aloud.

 **[Clarke: 10:02am]**  
I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was speaking with the President of the United States.

 **[Clarke: 10:02am]**  
(Hate to break it to ya, but I’ve met the President, and she’s taller than you.)

And not as attractive, Clarke added mentally, but there was a line between casual flirtation and sexual harassment that she wasn’t ready to cross this early in the morning.

 **[Unknown: 10:06am]**  
Darn. My cover is blown.

 **[Unknown: 10:06am]**  
Don’t you usually spend your time harassing your Q?

With a communication record of over a year and a half, Clarke and the Commander had spoken about their workplace associates and comrades in fairly vague and non-committal terms. Clarke knew that the Commander had had the same handler for almost three years now and that she was “prickly” but “someone you definitely want at your back,” and in turn Clarke had shared a couple of the various pranks she had pulled on Raven over their two years together. 

**[Clarke: 10:08am]**  
She locked me out of her office :(

 **[Unknown: 10:08am]**  
Ouch.

 **[Unknown: 10:10am]**  
No weekend off for you?

 **[Clarke: 10:11am]**  
Hardly. I didn’t get enough done during the week to earn a day to sleep in.

 **[Unknown: 10:12am]**  
Ah.

It sounded like an end to their conversation, so Clarke propped the phone up where she could see it and tried to refocus her eyes on the forms on her desk. She was halfway through a fifteen-page packet requiring various signatures and initialing when the door to Kane’s office slammed open again. Clarke sat up quickly as the high-pitched strains of an alarm reached her ears.

“Is anyone else around?” Raven asked. She was coming down the flight of stairs connecting the pit to the upper offices, and her stuttering gait sent more alarm through Clarke’s veins than any siren. Raven always took great care to cover the extent of her disability, and the fact that she had her guard down meant that something far, far bigger was on her mind.

“No, just you and me. What’s up?” Clarke was waiting at the base of the stairs by the time Raven made it down the last step.

“Agents in our intelligence branch have tracked down a bomb threat at the TonDC Convention Center.”

“For tonight?” Clarke’s eyes widened. 

“Yes.” A muscle was twitching in Raven’s jaw as she limped across the bullpen to her regular desk. Clarke followed her.

“Do you have anyone that can go in?”

“We have a tactical team that can cover behind the scenes, but no one for the floor.”

“I’ll do it,” Clarke said immediately. “I’ve been benched for two months, Raven. I can do this.”

“You’re not benched because you can’t do the work,” Raven snapped back, but Clarke could see that her heart wasn’t in it. The fact that she and Raven were the only ones in the pit was not promising — calling in other agents for briefings took time that they didn’t have. They had to plan this now.

“You know this is what I’m best at,” Clarke pressed on. “Socialite banquet? Please, I grew up in that world.”

Raven didn’t respond at first, but her hand was clenching and unclenching against her thigh. “I’ll call Kane,” she finally said, and Clarke exhaled.

“Thank you, _thank you_.” She darted forward and gave Raven a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll go get my gear.”

“Don’t make me regret this!” Raven called after her, but Clarke was already gone. She didn’t see Raven hobble back to her desk and pull up a secure line of communication.

“Anya? Please tell me you have an agent for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raven would have you know that she would stop a meteorite with her bare hands because she is a goddamn gift to this goddamn world okay
> 
> clarkesmech on tumblr, talk @ me so I remember that I love writing these goofballs


	3. your body is a weapon, love

> **Gear (noun) -**  
>  _1\. Machinery: a mechanism or group of parts performing one function or serving one purpose in a complex machine.  
>  2\. Implements, tools, or apparatus, especially as used for a particular occupation or activity; paraphernalia._

An almost-invisible earpiece to provide a constant communication link back to base. They made Clarke feel like she was underwater. Lexa felt naked without them.

A wire. Stuffed into Clarke’s bra and snaking around to tuck into the waistband of her slip, all hidden so as not to show through her dress. Lexa did not wear one.

Tickets to the event. Clarke’s were stashed safely in her Coach clutch. Lexa would go in underground with the tactical team. If she was seen long enough to have to show a ticket, she was doing something wrong.

A crowbar, wire-cutters, pliers, glass-cutters. Lexa’s were checked and double-checked for signs of rust or structural damage before they were stowed in a jet-black duffel. The only tools Clarke had on her were a compact and nail file.

> _3\. Wearing apparel; clothing_

Clarke’s gown was sapphire blue and strapless. It hugged her bust and her waist then flowed smoothly out, coming a few inches above her knees in the front and almost to her ankles in the back. She accented it with diamonds around her neck and woven into her bun like a tiara. Her heels were two inches and black with a peep-toe.

Lexa’s tactical suit was long-sleeved, black, and tough like a second skin. She wore a black Kevlar vest and gloves and tied her hair back out of her face. Her boots had seen more missions than half of the agents in her department, and they were silent from long years of wear.

> _4\. Armor or arms_

Lexa was armed with two 9mms and at least three knives.

Clarke was armed with her wits and her smile.

—

The socialites glittered like snowflakes, as delicate as doilies as they rotated slowly around the ballroom floor. Lexa blew out a small puff of air to brush a string of loose hair from her face and re-settled herself.

She was good at waiting.

As the leader of the tactical team she had positioned herself in the place where she was bound to get the most action: scoping out the event from above. She hung back in the shadows of an unlit balcony, approximately fifty feet above the heads of the people below. The weapons strapped to her waist were solid and reassuring, like little anchors grounding her in the present moment.

_“Base to Commander. Any action?”_

It was Anya, her voice soft and familiar in Lexa’s left ear. Lexa shook her head and then remembered, as always, that Anya couldn’t see her.

“Negative, Base. Just a bunch of cream puffs schmoozing each other.”

A fuzzy chuckle from Anya. _“I’m in contact with our partners from Intel. They should be feeding us some new information shortly.”_

“Well, that is their job. I’ll stay put.”

_“Copy that.”_

—

“You’re lucky I was a country club girl, Raven.”

_“Stop talking to me. People are going to think you’re crazy.”_

“Fine, whatever.”

It had been ten months since Clarke was last allowed in the field. She had jumped at this opportunity to get out from behind her desk and see some action. What she hadn’t anticipated was being so _nervous._

Going into the field with a teammate was one thing. She and Finn had been Kane’s go-to, a pair sent straight from heaven. They caught the bad guys every time and looked good doing it. Even towards the end when things had begun to fray between the two of them, they still knew without a doubt that they had each others’ backs.

Going solo was hard, and it was more than a little lonely. It took a very conscious effort to keep from checking her six o’clock every few seconds. The eyes that prickled the back of her neck now were likely entirely harmless - it wasn’t like she was going to get gunned down while wearing an evening gown.

Well, she hoped that wasn’t the way she would go. She had far more heroic scenarios in mind.

Clarke felt like an island, a rock stuck alone in the middle of the ocean to be buffeted by the wind and water. While she had indeed grown up among this crowd, it had been years since she had sipped champagne while making charming small talk. Not since her mom had been in the senatorial race, she figured.

A tall, freckled man in a tuxedo flicked her a shy smile over his wine glass, and Clarke batted her eyelashes at him before turning her back to play coy. If she timed it right, he would come over to chat with her in a few moments, and she would melt into the surroundings as just another girl in diamonds.

Of course she had timed it right. Three breaths later there was a gentle tap on her shoulder, and Clarke pivoted, eyebrows raised in delicate surprise.

“You look as if you could use a drink,” the man said, his voice a warm baritone. “White or red?”

“White, please,” Clarke purred, and he reached for a nearby tray like she couldn’t fetch it for herself. She accepted it and took a soft sip. He raised his glass a few inches in a subtle toast to her and took a drink of his own.

 _“Hope you’re making friends,”_ Raven said in her ear, oblivious to the flirtatious eye contact Clarke was swapping with a stranger. _“Because I still have Maya tracking down the damning evidence on our guy.”_

Great. And now she had to wait.

Clarke was awful at waiting.

—

_“German dude in a yellow suit. See him?”_

“A _yellow_ suit?” Lexa asked incredulously.

_“I’m teasing. I hope you haven’t already shot the guy I just made up.”_

Lexa let out a soft, amused huff. “Poor man,” she teased. “Such a short life. Such questionable fashion sense.” Anya’s response was to bite down on something particularly crunchy. Lexa flinched. “Stop eating while you’re on comms.”

 _“It’s dinnertime,”_ Anya protested, but there were no more horrific pops in Lexa’s ear.

“I guess that’s why we haven’t heard anything from Intel. They’re all out getting pizza.”

_“Probably.”_

Silence for a moment. Lexa flexed her fingers and rolled her neck.

_“Oh, wait. I’m getting something. Apparently Intel has someone on the floor tonight to be your eyes.”_

“What do they look like?” Lexa inched forward to scan the crowd again.

 _“Female, blonde, blue dress. Diamonds in her hair.”_ Pause. _“Tracker puts her in the far northwest corner of the room.”_

—

_“Clarke, can you hear me?”_

Still in light conversation with Mister Tall, Freckled, and Handsome, Clarke could only brush her finger across the tiny earpiece in the guise of tucking her hair behind her ear. Raven would hear the soft rubbing noise and know that she couldn’t talk at the moment.

_“Okay. I was just talking to Tactics, they’ve got someone up in a balcony to help you pick out our perp from above. South wall. She’ll be a little bit hard to find.”_

Clarke almost rolled her eyes at that one. Like she wouldn’t be able to locate a concealed agent. She could pick them out like cracks in china.

Freckles was deep into a story about his family’s lake house, so Clarke let her eyes wander towards the balcony in question. There was someone, standing quietly in the shadows like another member of security. The longer Clarke looked, the more she became convinced that she knew this agent. But Tactics was the most elite branch of the Agency, like FBI agents on steroids — she didn’t know anyone from Tactics.

Then the other girl looked back at her, and as their eyes met Clarke felt a swooping sensation in her stomach.

“Excuse me,” she said quickly to her conversation partner, and took her leave.

Up in the balcony, the Commander was doing the same.

—

Lexa was waiting in the back corridor of the ballroom, lounging against the wall between a loading dock and a giant stack of folding chairs. Her posture gave every impression of casual boredom - arms crossed, eyes hooded like she was about to doze off - but in one hand she spun a ring between her fingers. When she was truly focused, she could eliminate the tell, but in situations like this she felt myriads better when she could fidget with something.

Speaking of situations, here came one, shimmering in a dress that made her look like she was cloaked in sky. Lexa had to blink a few times to get the spots from her vision. She pushed off the wall and squared her shoulders.

“Princess,” she said shortly. The other girl stopped, looking a little caught off guard.

“I told you it’s Clarke,” she replied. “You don’t have to talk like we’re on duty.”

Lexa looked at her like she’d grown a second head. “We _are_ on duty. Why do you think I’m dressed like this?” She gestured to her skintight tactics suit.

Clarke shrugged. “I didn’t even know you were in Tactics.” Her voice was tighter, and it made Lexa’s shoulders tense. Tactics were like the nightmares of the Agency; no one spoke about them unless absolutely necessary, although everyone had had some sort of run-in with someone in a black suit. She could feel Clarke judging her.

“Well I didn’t know you’d be here tonight,” Lexa countered. “I didn’t think you worked field assignments anymore.”

That clearly struck a nerve — Clarke’s jaw clenched, and her fingers curled into fists at her sides. “You’re wasting my time,” she spat through her teeth. “I have a mark to find.”

“ _We_ have a mark to find.”

“I work better alone,” Clarke said. “You’ll just be in my way.” Before Lexa could respond, she turned on her heel and stalked off back towards the party.

 _Great._ Lexa was about to head back up to her balcony when Anya’s voice crackled into her ear.

_“Have you made contact with Intel yet? I’m finished with my chips and I’m bored.”_

Lexa tapped her earpiece. “Yeah.”

_“Just ‘yeah’? Nothing else to say?”_

“Nope. I should get back to my post.”

_“…Okay. I should have some news for you shortly.”_

—

“Stuck-up assholes,” Clarke muttered, stopping outside the ballroom to adjust a strap on her shoe.

 _“You talking to me?”_ Raven asked through the earpiece.

Clarke huffed a soft laugh. “No. Even you aren’t as bad as those jerks in Tactics.”

Raven snorted. _“So I’m guessing you made contact?”_

Clarke nodded, then remembered Raven couldn’t see her and gave a verbal affirmation. “She made some dumb quip about me not working a lot of missions. I told her to get out of my way.”

_“Clarke Griffin, bestselling author of ‘How to Win Friends and Influence People’.”_

“Shut up.”

Raven sighed, her breath crackling into the speakers. _“Seriously though, why are you pissing off your colleagues? She may be the one that keeps you from getting a bullet in the back.”_

“I can take care of myself, Rae,” Clarke said, feeling her hackles rising. “Just because you’ve kept me out of the field for months doesn’t mean I’m not still sharp.” And then, ignoring everything Raven had tried to drill into her head over the years, she muted her earpiece.

There was a faint buzzing, like Raven was trying to push her way through, and then silence. Blessed silence.

Clarke didn’t much like having voices in her head that weren’t hers.

She straightened, checked her hair by touch, and strode back into the ballroom like she owned the place.

_Fake it ’til you make it._

—

_“Lex, you there?”_

“Yes ma’am,” Lexa drawled gently. She had been watching Clarke pivot through the ballroom like a jeweled butterfly, fluttering from person to person without alighting for so much as a moment. Her body language, however, had changed. The set of her shoulders had acquired a certain sense of defiance, and the smiles she shared with her conversation partners were a little edgy and wild.

She was getting tense, and she was going to blow both of their covers.

“Please tell me you have something for me, Anya. Princess is about to lose it down there.”

 _“Princess is there?”_ Anya’s reply was instant and shocked. _“Raven just said she was sending an agent…I didn’t know she was still working with her.”_

“Who’s Raven?”

 _“Oh, uh, my contact at Intel.”_ Anya cleared her throat. _“What’s going on?”_

“She’s been out of play for too long, she’s getting a high off of this. I’m worried she’s gonna blow it, and then I’m the one who will have to mop up.”

_“Well, luckily for you I have our man. His name is Antoine Jacobson, small-town private militia guy gone big-time. I’m sending his picture to your tablet.”_

Lexa pulled the small device from her back pocket and checked it. Sure enough, a headshot of a surly-looking man in his thirties was there waiting for her.

“It’s always the pale and angry ones,” she quipped. Anya clicked her tongue.

_“We…do have a problem though.”_

“Goddammit.”

_“Princess has Rav — her Quartermaster on mute. She can’t get through to her.”_

A chill ran down Lexa’s spine. The other girl definitely wasn’t ready to be back in the field yet — pulling a move like that was arrogant and idiotic, and in a situation like this one it put lives at risk.

“Do you think you can patch me in, Anya? Can you hack Intel’s channel and get me into her ear?”

A pause. _“I can’t, but I can reach out to her Quartermaster. The girl’s a technical genius, I’m sure she can figure something out. Hang tight, Lex.”_

“Copy that.”

—

Clarke was at the bar topping off her gin and tonic (just another part of her cover) and enjoying the silence in her earpiece when there was an aggressive burst of static that made her wince and grab at her head.

“Ma’am, are you all right?” The bartender asked, his perfectly-coiffed brows raised in concern. Clarke forced a smile and mumbled something about getting a migraine, then made her way quickly to the bathroom. By the time she’d checked the stalls to be sure they were empty and latched the door, there was a voice in her ear again.

_“Clarke?”_

The voice was familiar, but not one she could immediately place. Clarke furrowed her brows. “Who is this?”

_“The Commander. It’s, uh, Lexa.”_

Well wasn’t that a surprise. Clarke hopped up onto the bathroom counter, ignoring the wrinkles likely forming in her dress. “I thought you said your name was Tris.”

_“You didn’t expect to get my real name right away, did you?”_

“I gave you mine,” Clarke huffed. And then she remembered. “How did you — where’s Raven?”

 _“You muted her.”_ Lexa sounded reproving. _“Because you got pissed off.”_

Clarke gritted her teeth. “Well now whose fault was that?”

 _“We have work to do, Clarke — save the temper tantrum for later.”_ Well now she really sounded like Raven. _“Our man is here at the event, likely undercover like you. He’s armed with a cell phone trigger that’s rigged to blow the entire building.”_

“Yikes.”

_“Yeah. Yikes. Since you’re on the floor, I need you to get him alone. Are you armed?”_

“Not unless you count a nail file.” There was a soft curse on the other end of the line. Clarke chuckled. “What, did you expect me to strap a dagger to my thigh or something?”

_“You’ll have to be very careful, then. I’ll be waiting on the loading dock with my team to take him in. Can you get him back there without blowing all of us up?”_

Clarke rolled her eyes, knowing full well that Lexa couldn’t see her. “No worries, Commander,” she said. “I’ve got it in the bag.”

—

Lexa’s team was fidgety. Antsy Tactics members looked a bit different from the rest of the general populace — the only things betraying them were a too-tight grip on a weapon or a tapping foot — but the fact that they were nervous to begin with meant that Lexa wasn’t doing her job. Her team looked to her to provide a sense of calm and confidence. They were clearly picking up on her anxiety about the whole Clarke situation.

Footsteps echoed from the other end of the long concrete hallway, and her team raised their weapons in unison. She held up a hand - “stand down and wait for my signal” - and they complied.

The footsteps drew closer, and Lexa could hear the low tones of a man’s voice, then a woman’s breathy giggle. The loading dock was a fair distance away from the main ballroom, but there was a risk of another couple coming back here to seek out some privacy. Lexa made a “come on” motion with her fingers and her team melted out of view, concealing themselves in supply closets or behind stacks of wooden pallets.

Lexa was the only person in the hallway now, and she stepped into the shadows behind a forklift. She could hear the woman’s dress rustling now, and her heels clicking against the floor. Lexa focused on her breathing and on the sensation of air rushing into and out of her lungs.

It was several breaths later when the couple turned the corner. It was in fact Clarke, and she hung giggling onto the arm of the man on Lexa’s tablet, Antoine Jacobson. He looked smug, like a cat who had gotten into the cream, and Lexa’s stomach tightened. She waited until they were a few strides past to pull her gun.

It only took three steps to press its muzzle between Jacobson’s shoulder blades. He jerked to a stop, and his hand went reflexively to his pocket before Clarke caught it.

“Sorry, sweetie,” she purred, and yanked both wrists back behind his back before tethering them with a zip tie she…had shoved down her bra? Lexa wasn’t quite sure about that one.

“Antoine Jacobson, you’re under arrest,” Lexa said quietly, and her team reappeared, all six weapons pointed straight at the man’s heaving chest.

“Nice work, partner,” Clarke said cheerily as Lexa’s team wrestled the explosive device from his pockets and hauled the man away. Lexa shot her a glance.

“What, I’m not in your way anymore?” She replied, and at least Clarke had the decency to look slightly ashamed.

“Sorry about that. I was a little full of myself, wasn’t I?”

Lexa sighed. “Just make sure you radio Raven and let her know you’re alive.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points for anyone who's seen the new Ghostbusters movie and picks up on the line I pulled from there ;)


End file.
